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第3章 The Old Man on the Sea（第2页）

Thecloudsoverthelandnowroselikemountainsandthecoastwasonlyalonggreenlinewiththegraybluehillsbehindit.Thewaterwasadarkbluenow，sodarkthatitwasalmostpurple.Ashelookeddownintoithesawtheredsiftingoftheplanktoninthedarkwaterandthestrangelightthesunmadenow.Hewatchedhislinestoseethemgostraightdownoutofsightintothewaterandhewashappytoseesomuchplanktonbecauseitmeantfish.Thestrangelightthesunmadeinthewater，nowthatthesunwashigher，meantgoodweatherandsodidtheshapeofthecloudsovertheland.Butthebirdwasalmostoutofsightnowandnothingshowedonthesurfaceofthewaterbutsomepatchesofyellow，sun-bleachedSargassoweedandthepurple，formalized，iridescent，gelatinousbladderofaPortugueseman-of-warfloatingclosebesidetheboat.Itturnedonitssideandthenrighteditself.Itfloatedcheerfullyasabubblewithitslongdeadlypurplefilamentstrailingayardbehinditinthewater.

“Aguamala，”

themansaid.“Youwhore.”

Fromwhereheswunglightlyagainsthisoarshelookeddownintothewaterandsawthetinyfishthatwerecoloredlikethetrailingfilamentsandswambetweenthemandunderthesmallshadethebubblemadeasitdrifted.Theywereimmunetoitspoison.Butmenwerenotandwhensomeofthefilamentswouldcatchonalineandrestthereslimyandpurplewhiletheoldmanwasworkingafish，hewouldhaveweltsandsoresonhisarmsandhandsofthesortthatpoisonivyorpoisonoakcangive.Butthesepoisoningsfromtheaguamalacamequicklyandstrucklikeawhiplash.

Theiridescentbubbleswerebeautiful.Buttheywerethefalsestthingintheseaandtheoldmanlovedtoseethebigseaturtleseatingthem.Theturtlessawthem，approachedthemfromthefront，thenshuttheireyessotheywerecompletelycarapacedandatethemfilamentsandall.Theoldmanlovedtoseetheturtleseatthemandhelovedtowalkonthemonthebeachafterastormandhearthempopwhenhesteppedonthemwiththehornysolesofhisfeet.

Helovedgreenturtlesandhawks-billswiththeireleganceandspeedandtheirgreatvalueandhehadafriendlycontemptforthehuge，stupidloggerheads，yellowintheirarmor-plating，strangeintheirlove-making，andhappilyeatingthePortuguesemen-of-warwiththeireyesshut.Hehadnomysticismaboutturtlesalthoughhehadgoneinturtleboatsformanyyears.Hewassorryforthemall，eventhegreattrunkbacksthatwereaslongastheskiffandweighedaton.Mostpeopleareheartlessaboutturtlesbecauseaturtlesheartwillbeatforhoursafterhehasbeencutupandbutchered.Buttheoldmanthought，Ihavesuchahearttooandmyfeetandhandsareliketheirs.Heatethewhiteeggstogivehimselfstrength.HeatethemallthroughMaytobestronginSeptemberandOctoberforthetrulybigfish.

Healsodrankacupofsharkliveroileachdayfromthebigdrumintheshackwheremanyofthefishermenkepttheirgear.Itwasthereforallfishermenwhowantedit.Mostfishermenhatedthetaste.Butitwasnoworsethangettingupatthehoursthattheyroseanditwasverygoodagainstallcoldsandgrippesanditwasgoodfortheeyes.

Nowtheoldmanlookedupandsawthatthebirdwascirclingagain.

“Hesfoundfish，”

hesaidaloud.Noflyingfishbrokethesurfaceandtherewasnoscatteringofbaitfish.Butastheoldmanwatched，asmalltunaroseintheair，turnedanddroppedheadfirstintothewater.Thetunashonesilverinthesunandafterhehaddroppedbackintothewateranotherandanotherroseandtheywerejumpinginalldirections，churningthewaterandleapinginlongjumpsafterthebait.Theywerecirclingitanddrivingit.

IftheydonttraveltoofastIwillgetintothem，theoldmanthought，andhewatchedtheschoolworkingthewaterwhiteandthebirdnowdroppinganddippingintothebaitfishthatwereforcedtothesurfaceintheirpanic.

“Thebirdisagreathelp，”

theoldmansaid.Justthenthesternlinecametautunderhisfoot，wherehehadkeptaloopoftheline，andhedroppedhisoarsandfelttheweightofthesmalltunasshiveringpullasheheldthelinefirmandcommencedtohaulitin.Theshiveringincreasedashepulledinandhecouldseethebluebackofthefishinthewaterandthegoldofhissidesbeforeheswunghimoverthesideandintotheboat.Helayinthesterninthesun，compactandbulletshaped，hisbig，unintelligenteyesstaringashethumpedhislifeoutagainsttheplankingoftheboatwiththequickshiveringstrokesofhisneat，fast-movingtail.Theoldmanhithimontheheadforkindnessandkickedhim，hisbodystillshuddering，undertheshadeofthestern.

“Albacore，”

hesaidaloud.“Hellmakeabeautifulbait.Hellweightenpounds.”

Hedidnotrememberwhenhehadfirststartedtotalkaloudwhenhewasbyhimself.Hehadsungwhenhewasbyhimselfintheolddaysandhehadsungatnightsometimeswhenhewasalonesteeringonhiswatchinthesmacksorintheturtleboats.Hehadprobablystartedtotalkaloud，whenalone，whentheboyhadleft.Buthedidnotremember.Whenheandtheboyfishedtogethertheyusuallyspokeonlywhenitwasnecessary.Theytalkedatnightorwhentheywerestormboundbybadweather.Itwasconsideredavirtuenottotalkunnecessarilyatseaandtheoldmanhadalwaysconsidereditsoandrespectedit.Butnowhesaidhisthoughtsaloudmanytimessincetherewasnoonethattheycouldannoy.

“IftheothersheardmetalkingoutloudtheywouldthinkthatIamcrazy，”

hesaidaloud.“ButsinceIamnotcrazy，Idonotcare.Andtherichhaveradiostotalktothemintheirboatsandtobringthemthebaseball.”

Nowisnotimetothinkofbaseball，hethought.Nowisthetimetothinkofonlyonething.ThatwhichIwasbornfor.Theremightbeabigonearoundthatschool，hethought.Ipickeduponlyastragglerfromthealbacorethatwerefeeding.Buttheyareworkingfaroutandfast.Everythingthatshowsonthesurfacetodaytravelsveryfastandtothenortheast.Canthatbethetimeofday?OrisitsomesignofweatherthatIdonotknow?

Hecouldnotseethegreenoftheshorenowbutonlythetopsofthebluehillsthatshowedwhiteasthoughtheyweresnow-cappedandthecloudsthatlookedlikehighsnowmountainsabovethem.Theseawasverydarkandthelightmadeprismsinthewater.Themyriadflecksoftheplanktonwereannullednowbythehighsunanditwasonlythegreatdeepprismsinthebluewaterthattheoldmansawnowwithhislinesgoingstraightdownintothewaterthatwasamiledeep.

Thetuna，thefishermencalledallthefishofthatspeciestunaandonlydistinguishedamongthembytheirpropernameswhentheycametosellthemortotradethemforbaits，weredownagain.Thesunwashotnowandtheoldmanfeltitonthebackofhisneckandfeltthesweattrickledownhisbackasherowed.

Icouldjustdrift，hethought，andsleepandputabightoflinearoundmytoetowakeme.Buttodayiseighty-fivedaysandIshouldfishthedaywell.